As he drove along the veld twenty minutes after, Julian looked
back at the burning Church. 'What would the Canon Superintendent
say?' he muttered with a grin. A fantastic shape started up from
the grass in front of him. The mules shied at it, and broke into
a gallop. 'Pull up!' he shouted. At last the mules were pulled
up. He sprang out and walked back along the road. The figure
stood stock-still by the road-side, as if waiting to greet him.
When he came near, it came towards him, the figure of an old
native with a ragged grey beard, all hunched up in a blanket.
'Tom.' called Julian to him in his shrill voice, 'You've got to
come down to town tonight. No, you swine, to-morrow won't do.
Tonight before sunset, or there'll be trouble. You know what I
want you to do, what you did last Christmas.' The drive back to
town was uneventful.
Julian sat on his stoep half an hour before dinner, smoking and
pondering. He was anxious about that plunge he meant to make
to-morrow. His philosophy of life, so largely commercial, found room
for a cult or two of superstition. He had consulted Mrs. Puce's
oracle time and time again. He had had recourse to his boy Jim's
father, Tom Nyoka, twice before. He had got him to use for him a
rude and illegal form of divination. He had been helped by it
before, at least so he opined. He might be helped again. He sat
looking at the sun dropping smoothly in a cloudless sky. As he
watched, Jim came out to him to tell him that his father was in
the kitchen. 'I'll come directly, Jim,' he said.
The piccanin was sent off to get water, the kitchen door was
safely locked. The throwing of the bones began, while Julian
watched with understanding eyes. His hard grip of his subjects,
generally, extended to this remote ritual.
To-night the answer seemed to be inconclusive, but as they sought
the answer, a clear sign appeared as it were by the way, and
unsought. Julian was watching haggardly. He snarled a question at
Jim. His cook-boy's big round eyes showed very big and very round
just now. He was watching with painful intentness.
'Yes,' he answered his master, 'Yes, sir, it is so.'
Julian whistled and turned away moodily, with his hands in his
pockets, staring into space.
The old man the diviner was talking at large as he gathered the
fingers of wood with their rude traceries together. Julian paid
little heed to his words and gesticulations when he awoke from
his day-dream.
'Give him some skoff and a bit of meat, Jim,' he said. 'Tell him
I'll give him ten bob when I've got change.'
The old man was clamoring to him to make up his money to a
sovereign, but Julian paid no heed to what he said. He swung out
of the hut and off to wash for dinner, still brooding moodily.
At dinner. Tommy Bates found Julian the reverse of good company.
He did not keep his gloom to himself, and he snapped at any
excuse for snapping. Tommy left as the sweets came in, with an
excuse about meeting some friends at 8:30.
'Don't be late,' said Julian peremptorily. 'I want you here at
eleven sharp. I want to see about tomorrow's letters before I go
to bed.'
At 8:30 a pink note came in with the coffee. Mrs. Puce had sent
it down. It contained but a few lines: